


Touch

by considerableregret



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, M/M, Massage, Scream of the Shalka, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:12:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/considerableregret/pseuds/considerableregret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master counsels the Doctor, leaving his own desires unsaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

The doors exploded open in a flurry of limbs as the Doctor and Alison Cheney tumbled through, leaving a trail of mud and plant matter on the clean floor. "Get us out of here!" the Doctor ordered, steadying himself against the TARDIS console.

Tsking at the mess they’d made—and just _who_ would be tasked with cleaning it up, he wondered?—the Master set the craft in motion and a loud wheezing filled the room, muffling the gasping of the two returned travellers.

"I don’t know about you," Alison wiped her forehead, falling into one of the armchairs, "but I think I’m about ready to die."

The Master frowned. "Please don’t expire in that chair, it’s just been re-upholstered."

Taking the seat opposite his companion, the Doctor began brushing dirt from his coat and glanced at the Master. "A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss. You know how I like mine. Oh, and be quick about it, would you? I’m starting to feel a chill."

Complaining tended to be a futile gesture when the Doctor was involved, so the Master contented himself with a look of extreme indignation and went to the kitchen to prepare it. With a sigh he brought out the teapot and set two cups on the counter with unnecessary force.

Making tea—was this what he had been reduced to? An intergalactic housekeeper? Scowling, he put two extra cubes of sugar in the Doctor’s cup. Not exactly a revenge scheme on the scale he’d once been used to, but one had to make do with smaller pleasures these days.

Once the tea was ready, he carried it in on a tray and set the steaming cups on a table beside the armchairs. The Doctor nodded gratefully and held his to his lips, while Alison warmed her hands on hers. Close inspection revealed they were both damp and muddy, with leaves and blades of grass adhering to their clothes. _Really_ , the Master thought, eyeing the wet footprints they’d left on the floor, _the least they could’ve done was wipe their feet on the mat when they entered._ How many times must he have this conversation with the Doctor?

"Thanks, this is just what I needed," said Alison, sipping her drink. "God, it was wet and cold out there."

"Yes." The Doctor wrinkled his nose as he tasted the tea and set the cup back in its saucer. "Anyway, at least we got out of there in time. Those troops almost had us for a moment."

"What did you do this time, Doctor?" The Master folded his arms.

"What makes you think _I_ did anything?"

Alison grinned. "He had it out with the leader of this town we found in the middle of the jungle. Said a few things that rubbed him the wrong way."

"He was using the town’s lower class as slaves!" protested the Doctor. "I had to say something!"

"You could’ve looked for a nicer town," the Master shrugged. "You don’t _always_ have to interfere."

"I don’t always interfere!"

"No, of course you don’t, Doctor." Clearing away the cups—Alison’s was now empty, while the Doctor had eyed his with contempt and left it alone after the first sip—the Master glanced down at their clothes again. "I suggest you both change into something less wet and less... nature-infested."

Nodding Alison rose and stretched her legs with a groan. "Ugh, takes a lot out of you, all this running."

The Doctor looked at her, his expression changing. "Perhaps we should take it easy for a few days. Some rest might do us good. Every muscle in my body seems to hate me right now."

"Not a bad idea. I want to slip into bed and sleep for weeks," yawned Alison. "Goodnight, Doctor. Goodnight, Master." She tramped out the room.

The Master turned to the Doctor. "Well, Doctor, are you going to follow the admirable example of Miss Cheney, or are you going to spend the rest of the day in those wet clothes?"

"Alright, alright, I’m going. Perhaps I’ll take a nice hot shower—I think I need it."

Nodding, the Master carried the tray back to the kitchen. "You need more than that," he murmured to himself.

* * *

The health spa had been the Doctor’s idea, though he never used it. Marble gleamed in every direction, and ripples of light sparkled on the ceiling, reflected by the baths and basins filling the room. There were racks holding embroidered towels; cabinets containing every soap, shampoo, oil, or ointment you could think of; and gentle strains of Bach playing over the speakers.

The Master waited beside a cushioned marble slab, his hands clasped behind his back. He never used the room either—what good was a spa to a machine? However, it was a pleasant enough location and he wondered why the Doctor didn’t make use of it more often.

There was a squeak as a glass door opened and the room filled with steam. Emerging from a shower stall, the Doctor entered the spa, one of the ornate towels tied around his waist. His hair clung tightly to his head, little beads of water dripping from it, and longer trickles running down his chest. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he noticed the Master.

"Good evening, Doctor."

"Evening. Did you get lost again?" The Doctor rested an arm against one of the walls and studied him quizzically.

The Master let his detached expression shift to one of annoyance. "I never got lost—you rearranged the TARDIS that time without telling me!"

"Same thing." Pulling another towel from the rack, the Doctor began drying his hair. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I could be of some assistance to you."

"Nice of you to offer, but I do know how to shower by myself."

"That’s not what I meant—I thought perhaps you needed something _more_ to ease your body after the day’s trials."

Lowering the towel from his head, the Doctor regarded the Master with bemusement. "I’m not sure I know what you mean..."

"Lie down, please, Doctor." The Master gestured to the marble table.

Now the Doctor was eyeing him suspiciously. "Look, I may have had a hard day, but I’m not sure _this_ is what I need to relax..."

"If you’re concerned I lack sufficient skill, Doctor, you need not fear. I downloaded all the necessary techniques into my mind from the TARDIS’s data core."

"Er, yes, I’m sure you did, but... well, it’s not a good time..."

"You’re here, in the spa—a rare occurrence indeed. I cannot think of a better time."

"But... But what if Alison walks in?"

The Master shrugged. "Then I shall see to her needs as soon as I finish with you. It isn’t as if I have much else to do."

Overtaken by a fit of coughing, the Doctor was forced to sit down on the table. "Er, you... what?!"

"Honestly, Doctor," the Master sighed, "I didn’t expect such resistance to the suggestion of a simple massage."

The Doctor looked up. "...Oh. Oh. A massage. I see."

Frowning, the Master tilted his head. "What did you think I meant?"

"Never mind," the Doctor said quickly. "Anyway, in that case, yes, a massage would be just the thing. I still have an ache in my shoulder from shoving my way through all those soldiers when we were escaping." He stretched across the table, rolling over so he was face-down. "By all means."

Bending over him, the Master began to gently knead his shoulders. "Are you always this tense?" he asked.

The Doctor made no reply.

Unperturbed by his silence, the Master moved his fingers up the Doctor’s wet skin, reaching his neck. He felt the man tense even more as his hands began rubbing the muscles of his neck, trying to force out the weariness he had accumulated. "Do try to relax, Doctor."

Letting out a long, deep breath, the Doctor lifted his head and threw a glance over his shoulder. "Better?"

"It’s a start." Some of the tension had faded. The Master worked his fingertips further up his neck, brushing a stray strand of wet hair back into place, then resuming his work on the Doctor’s shoulders. "So, tell me, Doctor, did you enjoy your little adventure today?"

"A bit strenuous, but you know I always like an excursion that gets the blood pumping."

"Do you?" The Master leant closer and pressed his weight against the Doctor’s right shoulder with his hands. "It’s just like old times, then? Especially with Miss Cheney along..."

The tension instantly returned to the Doctor’s body. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Oh, nothing. It is not my place to counsel you in such matters—I exist only to serve." Saying the words, even in jest, brought a bitter scowl to his face for an instant. Then it was replaced by a smile. "However, my dear Doctor, I would hardly be surprised if you felt a few... misgivings. You may enjoy Miss Cheney’s company, but her presence certainly complicates matters, doesn’t it?"

"You mean you have to make tea for two people instead of just one." The Doctor shot him a cheeky grin.

"No, that is _not_ what I mean." Though it was a good point. He really was going to have to lay down rules about everyone making their own tea and meals. "You have another’s life under your protection once again. She may see herself as a free agent, but the fact remains that anything that happens to her now is your responsibility."

"I am aware of that, you know." The grin was gone.

The Master’s hands left his shoulders and worked their way down his back, tracing the curve of his spine as they kneaded the muscles. "Is that why you want to ‘take it easy’ for several days? To avoid putting her in dangerous situations? You can’t do that indefinitely. Sooner or later you will either grow bored and relent, or danger will find us. That’s the nature of life, Doctor."

"Still not telling me anything I don’t know," the other man snapped.

"I’m simply telling you you have to make a choice—either you must handle the risk of losing Miss Cheney, or you must take her home and travel alone."

"Alone?"

"With the exception of myself, of course." He allowed himself a smile.

The Doctor shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I’ve already made my decision. Alison stays—I can’t take her home now, not after everything we’ve done together."

"Then you must accept that you cannot always protect her. There will always be dangers, and any one of them might take her life. You know that _very_ well." He left the rest unspoken. Some wounds were still too fresh to touch.

"Yes. Yes, I know." The Doctor’s irritation had faded, replaced by a quiet sadness the Master always found far more disconcerting. "But I can’t travel alone. I already tried that. As much as I hate to admit it, I need someone with me. Without a companion I’m like a ship without a rudder—I drift off-course."

The Master nodded. "Precisely, Doctor." He kept the words from sounding as hollow as he felt. He would never be that someone. "And people like Miss Cheney need you. What you learn from each other is well worth any risk." His hands paused, resting on the warm skin of the Doctor’s back. "You must remember that."

There was a long silence. "I will." Slowly, the Doctor sat up, turning to face the Master. "Thank you."

The Master winced as his fingers trailed off the Doctor’s body. He forced his eyes away from his friend’s chest, which shimmered as light caught the damp skin, outlining the curve of every muscle. "I told you, Doctor—I’m just a machine, existing to serve you. Nothing more."

A smile flickered over the Doctor’s face and his hand brushed the Master’s shoulder for one fleeting moment, then he was on his feet and heading for the changing room to get dressed. "Thanks anyway. Excellent massage—I feel much better. I’ll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Doctor." The Master watched him leave, and his lips opened in a sigh. "Nothing more."


End file.
